


Duck and Cover

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: John, Teyla, and Ronon come to Rodney's rescue - again. When did this become his life?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Duck and Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SGA Saturday prompt: Blow

Rodney ducked, avoiding a blow that very nearly took his head off. John reached out and yanked him back to safety. P-90 raised and ready to fire, John growled, "Stay behind me, McKay."

"Tell that neanderthal it's not my fault," Rodney muttered rubbing the side of his face. The blow might have missed, but it had come so close he'd felt the passing rush of air against his cheek. 

"I don't think he cares, Rodney," John said, never taking his eyes away from the burly and very pissed-off native in front of him. 

Caught in an adrenaline rush, Rodney babbled, "Tell him, Sheppard. There's no way anyone could have fixed that machine. Not with components so old, they broke into pieces in my hands. All I did was pick them up. It could have happened to anyone. Damn it, I knew I should have sent Zelenka."

"Well, Rodney, John drawled, never taking his eyes off the threat in front of them, "you can worry about explaining later. Let's get out of this mess first."

To Rodney's relief, Teyla and Ronon came running up with their weapons raised. It took several minutes of Ronon's fierce looks and Teyla's calm negotiation skills, but finally, the warrior backed down. 

Burly guy remained clearly unhappy, but at least he'd lowered his spear. Great. Rodney would take a sulky Pegasus native over furious one any day of the week. 

He moved from his relatively safe position to stand beside John. How was this his life now? When had sulky, weapons-brandishing natives become par for the course? When they got back to Atlantis, he was going to have a long talk with Elizabeth. Mandatory vacations. He would insist on it. 

Looking grim, their leader strode over to intervene—finally. What had he been doing all this time? Waiting for Rodney to become shish kabob? 

The conversation shifted between Teyla and the village chief. Rodney ignored most of it, trusting Teyla to save their asses. Again. 

She was nodding now, although her smile had that same edge Rodney had seen on most of his dates after the first hour. Fine. All of his dates. 

"Major Sheppard," she said, without turning her back on the warriors. "We've been invited to share their evening meal."

John nodded. "And…?"

"We are to regard it as a rare honor bestowed on us by the leader of their people." Her voice took on a warning edge as her glance slid over to Rodney. "And consider it an opportunity for Dr. McKay to apologize for the damage he caused to their machine."

"That is so unfair. I didn't—ow." Rodney curled his arm around his side where John had elbowed him. "Fine. Tell tall, sulky, and muscle-bound, we're really happy about that."

Dinner, from Rodney's point of view, was a disaster. Sure, the Nerinian's had seemed pleased enough with his apology, once he'd stood up in front of the crowd and made a fool of himself. At least John had stood beside him the entire time. Granted, he'd kept one hand on Rodney's elbow, silently reminding him not to yell or express his real feelings on the subject. At least that part was over. 

With a heavy sigh, Rodney sat down next to his team at the rough-hewn table. He knew angering the natives was a bad idea, but the misunderstanding still rankled. There was only so much anyone could do with the village's mishmash of technology. He'd only been trying to help, damn it. 

Well, at least the food looked good. 

He reached out to snag one of the barbeque rib-things. Ronon's hand came down hard on his wrist stopping him. Perplexed, Rodney asked, "What's wrong? Oh—don't tell me."

"Yep," Ronon took the sticky rib out of his hand and put it on his own plate. "The sauce tastes like that stuff you can't eat."

"Of course, it does."

"The bread is good, though." Grinning, Ronon dropped a fist-sized roll down onto Rodney's plate. 

Smiling, Teyla passed him a small bowl of nut butter. "This is safe and quite good."

Rodney bowed to the inevitable. While everyone else could enjoy the barbeque, he was stuck eating the Pegasus equivalent of a peanut butter sandwich. This entire mission sucked.

John sat down beside Rodney holding two mugs of brew. Sitting one in front of him, John bumped against his shoulder. "Try this. Tastes a lot like that Canadian stuff you and Chuck drink."

Rodney's glanced around to see everyone else enjoying the outdoor barbeque. His team was smiling and hobnobbing with the local natives like best friends. Just his luck. He was stuck eating the equivalent of a peanut butter sandwich and watching everyone else enjoy the feast. 

He took an experimental sip of his drink. Huh. Not bad. Rodney looked up to see John watching him; his eyes crinkling in a smile. Maybe this day wasn't so awful after all. 

They finished up in time to leave before nightfall. On the long trudge back to the gate, no one fussed over him despite his near-death experience. The lack of words and sympathy should have grated. It would have a few years ago. 

Yet, with John by his side, Teyla on point, and Ronon covering their six, Rodney had never felt more protected. His team might not say the words, but they said a hell of a lot by action. 

Rodney ducked his head and smiled. Maybe he wouldn't insist on that vacation after all.

~*~


End file.
